Cold

The yard is making mud onion straws. My walk is filled with crunch crunch crunch crunch swish swish. I’m a cacophony of quiet noises.

The dog’s grave is collapsing down to level. It would be distressing to watch what’s going on down there, but I admit to being curious. I imagine the leveling of the grave is somewhat because of just natural settling, but must also be because she’s already done the part where her middle fills up with gasses and expands to way beyond its normal size and then, pop, sinks back down to regular or less than regular size. As there’s less of her, the dirt falls in to fill the void.

Oh, god, this has become the most morbid post ever. Y’all are going to be so ready to hear about a new dog.